Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (16 page)

           
There had been a little sadness
then, for—with the exception of

           
Hattim—they had been a close
company, and the sudden absence of such good friends left an emptiness.

           
Bedyr had filled it with
preparations for their own departure, his activity suggesting that he had
waited only until the armies were disbanded and the commanders safely on their
way to leave himself. Wynett had attended to what few last minute arrangements
were needed to satisfy her that the hospital would continue to run smoothly,
and Rycol had feasted them handsomely. They set out the following day, Wynett the
only woman among the hundred Tamurin warriors riding escort.

           
It was a blustery morning, robbed of
brightness by the heavy banks of lowering cloud that hung above the fort. To
the north snow was already falling, thicker than the earlier squalls, so that
the Beltrevan road was carpeted in white that churned beneath the feet of the
masons to ugly slush. South of the great mountain wall the snow became rain,
drifting thin and steady from the leaden sky to coat horses and cloaks with a
sheen of moisture. Nonetheless, their going was cheerful, the warriors laughing
at the elements and even the animals prancing with high-tossed heads and
dancing hooves, as if they sensed their direction was home and welcomed that
return. Wynett had wrapped herself in a thick, waterproof cloak and ignored the
veiling droplets as she watched the column fall into line before and behind.
Bedyr took the head, flanked by Kedryn and Tepshen Lahl, all draped in soft
leather cloaks that repelled the rain, the kyo scorning to use his hood, so
that his oiled hair soon ran with moisture. She had thought that on horseback
it was impossible to tell Kedryn was blind, for the Keshi stallion fell into
step with the two flanking animals and he sat his saddle with such casual grace
that he appeared in complete control.

           
They had gone down through the town
with the farewell cheers of the soldiery behind them and the shouts of the
townsfolk ahead. The streets had been lined with people despite the inclemency
of the day, many running out to touch the hem of Kedryn’s cloak with an almost
religious awe, parents holding children aloft that they might catch a glimpse
of the young man they hailed as hero. Kedryn had seemed embarrassed by the
attention, and once clear of the settlement had set heels to the stallion’s
flanks and lifted the war-horse to a thundering gallop that brought Wynett’s
heart into her mouth. Neither Tepshen Lahl nor Bedyr had seemed to share her
fear, for they both whooped with laughter and set off after Kedryn, who, she
was sure, allowed them to catch up until they charged on either side and all
three hurtled over the muddy ground where not long ago peace had been forged.

           
She had watched as they rode away,
then wheeled, circling back to rejoin the column, and she had seen the smile on
Kedryn’s face as he slowed the black horse, bringing it alongside the wagon.

           
“Jarl was generous,” he had called
to her. “This beast is magnificent. ”

           
“Is it wise,” she had ventured, not
entirely over her fear for him, “to gallop thus?”

           
“The horse has eyes to see,” was his
answer, “so all I need do is stay in the saddle.”

           
“But if he met a jump?” she
wondered.

           
Kedryn had laughed, pleased at the
concern he heard in her voice, and said, “Between here and the river Sol the
land is flat. Look.”

           
She had followed his gesturing hand
and seen the plain stretching out before them, given over to grass and small
farms, the only obstacles seeming to be the trees that sheltered the holdings
from the wind.

           
It had been thus for the next three
days, the land undulating somewhat but never dramatically, the gently rolling
terrain the Tamurin called
dumbles
stretching out on all sides until they came to the river Sol.

           
There was a small town that spread
along either bank, the two parts connected by ferryboats and a larger,
flat-bottomed raft that was capable of carrying wagons or livestock, the houses
built low against the ground, some even descending into the earth so that they
were entered by steps that went down to warm, cellarlike rooms. The column
halted there, sleeping under roofs for the first time since quitting High Fort,
and Wynett was able to use the public bathhouse. They ate and rested on the
east bank, and it seemed that the west must have emptied, for the ferries were
in constant use, accompanied by smaller craft as the inhabitants came
cheerfully to set eyes on the visitors, and the men of the settlement—who had
marched with the army—gave greetings to old companions.

           
The next morning the rain eased off
and a melancholy sun essayed a way through the clouds, painting the
village—Solanul, it was named—with golden light. The river was swelling with
the outspill from the Lozins, but passage over was effected without incident
and they continued their westward progress cheered afresh by the warmth of
Solanul’s hospitality.

           
By midaftemoon the dumbles gave way
to a less even topography, and on the horizon bulked a plateau dark with
timber. This was the Tamurin heartland, the distant swell of the massif called the
Geffyn. There was, Kedryn told Wynett as they sat around the campfire that
evening, a town at the foot of the heights, commanding the trail that ran
through the forest, and another at the crest of the rise, then only woodland
until they emerged onto the central Tamurin plateau, at the heart of which
stood Caitin Hold.

           
Mention of his home seemed to
produce conflicting feelings in Kedryn, and Wynett sensed that he was tom
between his desire to be reunited with his mother and his disappointment that
he should return blind. She tried again to restore his sight, but the attempt
proved fruitless and she soon abandoned it for fear its failure should sink him
into despair.

           
“I hope too much,” he said morosely.
“Or for too much.”

           
“No,” she told him, “you are right
to hope, but you must have patience, too.”

           
“At least you are here.” He smiled,
the expression wan in the firelight. “And I thank the Lady for that.”

           
“Aye.” Wynett adjusted the folds of
her cloak. “Give thanks, for she
will
restore your sight.”

           
Kedryn nodded and began to speak
again, but then bit off his words, shaking his head when Wynett asked what it
was he said, so that she knew it was to do with his feelings for her. She
studied him as dispassionately as she was able, knowing how hard it was for him
to leave the words unsaid and sensing how afraid he was to say them. A frown
creased his brow and in the glow of the flames he looked older, shadows planing
his cheeks, his hair russet in the light, and she felt a great desire to hold
him, and to feel his arms about her.

           
She bit her lip and rose, murmuring
some excuse to leave him, and crossed to where the wagon stood, setting her
hands to the cold metal of the wheel rim as she murmured a prayer to the Lady.

           
“You are well?”

           
She turned, recognizing Tepshen
Lahl’s slightly accented speech, and smiled thinly.

           
“Aye, thank you.”

           
“It is not easy for you.”

           
She was surprised by the easterner’s
comment: he had spoken little to her since leaving the fort and she knew he did
not share her belief in the Lady or agree with her vows, yet concern was
evident in his tone.

           
“No,” she said, “but it is harder
for Kedryn.”

           
“Whom we both love,” the kyo
murmured.

           
“Aye,” Wynett nodded, then gasped at
the admission.

           
Tepshen Lahl smiled, his teeth very
white in the darkness.

           
“Love is not easy. Harder still for
you. That you ride with us is an honorable thing and I thank you for it.”

           
“You care for him,” she said,
slightly nervous, for the kyo had about him an air of controlled violence that
her Estrevan-trained senses felt as palpably as she would feel the menace in a
caged wolf or the green eyes of a forest cat.

           
“I love him,” Tepshen Lahl answered
simply. “I have no son but Kedryn. In my country I would be called his
ahn-dio
— his . . . foster father is the
nearest you have. I share his pain, and because you lift that pain I share some
of his feeling for you. Should you ever need a friend know that you have me.”

           
He bowed then, ceremoniously, as
might a man on completion of a formal undertaking, and turned without further
word to walk back to the fire, where he drew his sword and began to oil the
blade. Wynett stood a moment longer before returning herself, better composed
now, and able to engage again in conversation with less likelihood of revealing
the full depth of her feelings.

           
The journey, for all the good she
knew it did, was not easy.

           
The next day they traversed
increasingly broken terrain and Kedryn’s displays of horsemanship were
curtailed, the trail dropping steeply into gullies and crossing streams
beginning to swell with the threat of seasonal flooding. Stands of timber
loomed about them, winter-bare forerunners of the forest ahead, and the pace of
the column slowed to allow for the wagon that rocked and groaned its way down
vertiginous descents and slithered wildly on the rain-slickened gradients as
they climbed; Dys’s taciturnity was impressive as he urged the straining horses
on with little more than grunts and clicking sounds of encouragement. The rain
seemed to have held off only to gain strength, for it began to lash their camp
at dawn and by the time they set out it had become a downpour that masked the
way ahead behind a pall of gray, driving into faces and eyes so that even
Tepshen Lahl drew up his hood and rode slump-shouldered, as though driven down
by the weight of liquid cascading from the sky. Wynett huddled beneath the
canopy, her own cloak drawn tight about her, the hood masking her face as she
clutched the bench to prevent the lurching vehicle from throwing her off. She
began to think that she should forgo the dignity of her blue robe and obtain
riding gear and a horse, were a spare mount available.

           
Their camp that night was wet and
less cheerful than usual, cold with the wind that clattered the bare-bones
branches of the surrounding trees, threatening constantly to douse the fires as
it seemed to douse conversation.

           
Soon after dawn they started out
again, clothing clammy beneath the protective hide cloaks, the horses fretful
at the ceaseless downpour and the warriors silent, save for occasional curses
as water found a way into boots and cloakfronts

           
They were all glad when the scouts
Bedyr sent out ahead came galloping back to announce their imminent arrival in
Murren, the town that marked the commencement of the trail into the Geffyn.

           
It was dusk by then and the lights
that shone through the gloom filled them all with welcome anticipation of hot
baths and wine, food and soft beds. Wynett peered out from beneath her hood as
they came to the walled town, seeing lanterns bobbing through the shadows as a
welcoming party came out to greet them.

           
It seemed composed of all the civic
dignitaries, some dozen men and women, for Murren was a settlement of some
size, commanding not only the approach to the Geffyn Heights, but also the
crossroads that joined before the city walls, northern and southern trade routes
intersecting there with the road between Caitin Hold and High Fort. There was
little formality in the reception, the
alcar
merely displaying the loudest voice as he welcomed the party on behalf of his
fellow councillors and urged them to take swift shelter from the rain. He would
have had ostlers take in their horses, but the Tamurin warriors preferred to
see the animals safely stabled themselves, allowing the eager townsfolk to take
over only when they were satisfied the beasts were comfortable. Having no part
to play in those arrangements, Wynett watched as Kedryn rubbed down the Keshi
stallion, his movements deft with the skill of long practice and needing no
eyes to govern his hands, then joined him as he walked with Bedyr and Tepshen
Lahl to the inn where rooms had been reserved for them.

           
As in Solanul, there was not a
building large enough to hold them all, and the party split into groups, each
one accompanied by townsfolk intent on making them at home. The larger number,
inevitably, went with Bedyr and Kedryn to the hostelry indicated by Kendar
Vashan, the alcar, and the place was rapidly crowded with bodies intent on
catching sight of the heroes of the recent war.